


For Better and for Poorer

by StarsAreMassive



Series: Gallavich tumblr prompts [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Frustrated Ian, M/M, Mexico, Post-Prison, Season 10 AU, Worried Mickey, as always, lots of swearing, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: Mexico isn't the fairy tale they thought it would be, and Ian is finding it difficult to hide his frustrations. Mickey is pretty sure this is the end.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gallavich tumblr prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655677
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	For Better and for Poorer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt I received on tumblr.  
> Anonymous asked: Hi I have a prompt if you don't mind. Ian is stressed out at work and is being cold towards Mickey and ignoring him. Mickey thinks he did something wrong or that Ian doesn't want him anymore, Ian then realizes he's been taking his stress out on Mickey when he goes home and sees that Mickey sad/crying because he thinks Ian doesn't love him anymore

It started small. So small in fact, that they just shrugged it off as the teething problems that came with living together in their own place for the first time, and moving to a new country.

Mexico had felt like a fever dream at first. Everything was so perfect and so vibrant, and Ian and Mickey were deliriously happy. They found jobs pretty easily and spent their time together on the beach or hanging our on their balcony that was really just a railing in front of their window, or lounging over each other even though it was way too hot for that shit. But then their shitty apartment needed decorating and this and that needed repairs and their saving started dwindling. Despite what some of the choicest members of the Southside community had promised (fuck you, Frank), the locals were not falling over themselves to employ an American boy who spoke shitty Spanish at best.

Ian felt the pressure. Mickey already worked full time and slowly but surely Ian’s frustrations at not being able to support them reared their ugly heads.

* * *

The first time, Ian wasn’t entirely to blame. He’d worked the morning shift down on the beach. It might have been a tad cooler, but between the early morning surfers and the tourists who wanted to avoid the worst of the afternoon sun, it was one of the busier shifts to work and Ian was beat. But even so, he got groceries on his way home, collected their mail, and cleaned the apartment, which involved picking up a whole lot of Mickey’s shit. Mickey had never been the tidiest of men. It wasn’t something that was preached inside the Milkovich home, and it had never really made a dent in the chaos and disorder of the full to bursting Gallagher home when they’d lived there. But Ian’s military mind liked order, and he’d jut have to sit Mickey down and as him nicely to please put his shit back where it belonged if he wanted his dick sucked ever again.

Except when Mickey came home and dropped his bag on the floor like he normally did, any thoughts Ian had about calmly addressing Mickey’s messy habits with an undertone of sexual bullying, came crashing down as he noticed the streaks of grease or oil or whatever the fuck that was Mickey was tracking across their floors.

But he didn’t shout. No, it was much worse than that. Mickey was half way across the living room, making a beeline for the dinner Ian had taken to time to make for him, when the low, clipped tones of one fucked off Ian Gallagher brought him crashing to a halt.

“What the fuck is that?”

Mickey turned slowly to look at his boyfriend. Ian was glaring at the floor, hands on his hips and Mickey bit his lip and looked down.

“Shit.”

Ian’s lips thinned even more and his glare intensified.

“Sorry man, but don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up later.” Mickey tried to soothe Ian. He even went to walk up to him and wrap his arms around his waist - a rare show of affection that usually had Ian melting. But the second Mickey went to move his feet Ian made a sound in his throat that kept him firmly in his place.

“Now.”

“I - what?”

“Not later. Now, Mickey.”

Mickey groaned. “Come on, Ian. I’ve been at work all day. I am dog tired and I just wanna sleep. At least get me some food in my belly first, huh?”

It was a testament to Ian’s fury that he didn’t cave in the face of Mickey’s exhaustion. His boyfriend didn’t give him many opportunities to take care of him, and Ian relished them when they came along. But not to-fucking-day. No siree.

Ian took measured steps towards Mickey, not taking his eyes off the older man. “I spent hours today, cleaning, Mick,” he said lowly. “After my shift, I cleaned your laundry. I picked up your shit. I made you dinner. I don’t give a shit how hard your day was. You don’t get to come in here and fuck up all my hard work.” Ian got right in Mickey’s face nose to nose. “Clean. It. Up.”

If you’d put a gun to Mickey’s head and asked him where this came from, he’d be six feet under. On reflex, he barked out, “Fuck you, Gallagher,” and watched as Ian sneered at him, dumped Mickey’s plate on the table so hard the food went tumbling, and stormed into their room. When he tried to go to bed, only to find Ian had barricaded himself in, Mickey slept on the sofa angry and absolutely, positively not bothered by it at all.

* * *

The second time, Mickey had noticed Ian had been stressed. Gallagher hadn’t wanted to talk about it, so Mickey didn’t know why he was all bent out of shape, but he wanted to make something of an effort. So he put on an old Van Damme DVD, made some pizza bagels (for the nostalgia, of course), and waited for his man to come home any minute.

He’d just put the steaming hot bagels on the plate when Ian’s keys jingled in the lock. Mickey smiled to himself, but it dimmed a little when he saw Ian’s face. The bags under his eyes were heavy and dark. His skin was pale, and it looked like it was costing him a herculean effort to stay standing. Ian looked between Mickey and the pizza bagels blearily. “What’s this?”

Mickey shrugged. “Just thought I’d treat you,” he said, smirking.

“With pizza bagels?”

“And Van Damme.”

Ian’s face softened from suspicious to fond. “We could have gone out if you wanted quality time. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Nah man,” Mickey said. “I know you’re stressed out, so I figured we’ just relax at home together, y’know?”

Even though Mickey was trying to be reassuring, Ian stiffened. “You don’t need to be stuck at home for me.”

Mickey looked at him with a mouthful of pizza bagel. _“Gwuh?”_

“A night in, Mickey? For _me_? Really? C’mon, I know you can do better than that.”

The bagel choked Mickey going down and settled like lead in his stomach. He wasn’t entirely sure where he’d misstepped, but he felt like no matter what he did these days, he upset Ian. “The fuck, man? I did this for you - I thought you’d like it. But fuck me, right?”

“Yeah fuck you,” and if Ian was less exhausted he’d be shouting. “You don’t gotta rub it in my face that we’ve got no money, alright. No sorry -” Ian scoffed and threw up his hands, “- that _I’ve_ got no money. You’re the one bringing home the bacon. My bad. Thanks honey.”

“You work -”

“Yeah, sitting pretty on a beach - that’s what you said right?”

“That’s not what I mea-”

“Whilst you bust your ass all day at real work - right?”

It had been a while since Ian had thrown his own words back in his face like that. It put Mickey on the back foot, and made him feel guilty as shit. He wondered if that was why Ian had been feeling so shitty - Mickey’s big mouth running away with him as usual. But fuck him. Ian should know Mickey better by now.

“Don’t fuckin’ put words in my mouth. You know I was teasin’ you. You know that.”

“Yeah, sure Mick.” Ian picked his bag up and slung it back over his shoulder.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Mickey called after him.

“To Mandy’s. So you don’t have to worry about me costing you anymore money.”

And before Mickey could say _“What the fuck?”_ Ian slammed their apartment door closed behind him.

* * *

The third time, Ian wasn’t even there. It was a couple of weeks after the Pizza Bagels Incident. Ian had slinked back home after a few days (Mickey suspected Mandy kicked him out, based on her increasing use of capitals whenever she texted her brother about his _MOPEY RIDICULOUS SHITHEAD BOYFRIEND! FUCKER ATE ALL MY OREOS, MICKEY. YOU OWE ME OREOS!!_ Mickey had woken up with Ian on the other side of the bed and felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in days.

Mickey had a day off. Things still weren’t 100% between them. Ian wasn’t any less stressed than before, but he wasn’t snipping at Mickey anymore. He also wasn’t joking with Mickey anymore, and they hadn’t had sex once.

Mickey’s head was all in a spin. He wasn’t a pussy. It wasn’t like him to tip toe around somebody to spare their feelings. But he loved Ian. He’s given that boy everything he’s ever been capable of giving. He’d been shot twice for him. Went to juvie twice for him. Went to prison, escaped prison, then voluntarily went back to fucking _prison_ all for that boy. He’d come out in the most public way just to keep him. He’d had to play nice with the whore he’d been forced to marry for Ian’s own safety - not that the little shit understood that or anything. There was nothing left in Mickey Milkovich to give to Ian Gallagher. And here they were, living what was supposed to be their happily ever after or some shit in Mexico, and Mickey still wasn’t enough. 

He was drinking a beer on the sofa and Ian’s laptop was staring at him. Ian had left it open, barely even attempted to close it actually. Which Mickey was taking as some kind of message. Because when he pulled it to him, Ian’s history tab was open, and there, right at the top, was a search history for one way flights back to Chicago.

All they ways they’d ended before, Mickey never thought the final time would be by Google.

Mickey wasn’t sure how long he sat there drinking. He wasn’t throwing them back like he used to. He’d traded his beer for a steady sip of warming whisky that gave the right kind of burn down his throat. But it only felt like seconds before Ian was walking back into their apartment after pulling a double shift at the beach.

Mickey listened as Ian pulled off his jacket and hung it up, slipped off his shoes and set them carefully by the door, heels against the wall. He heard the soft pad of Ian’s socked feet across the floor and he heard them stop as Ian came upon Mickey sitting there, staring at a laptop that had turned itself off quite some time ago, with a tumbler full if liquor.

“Hi Mickey,” Ian near whispered.

Mickey didn’t answer.

“What are you doing? You okay?”

Back when Mickey was meaner, he would have scoffed, sneered, and said something cruel. But now he was just tired. “Nuttin’. Don’t worry. I’ll stay outta your way.”

“My way? Why, what am I doing?”

Again, Mickey didn’t answer He just gestured at the laptop.

Ian tapped a few buttons and it blinked back to life and there, highlighted in his search history, were the Chicago flights. His breath caught in his throat.

“Were you even gonna tell me?”

Ian’s stomach felt like ice. “Mickey - it’s not -”

“I mean, after everything - every goddamn thing - you were just going to bail?”

“Mickey, look at me.”

“I know you were unhappy. You can’t hide shit, Gallagher. You coulda just said you wanted out. Instead of sneaking off like some bitch.” Okay, so maybe he was still a little mean.

“Mickey,” Ian pleaded. “ _Look_ at me.”

And finally, Mickey did. The white of his eyes were a little pink - had be been crying, was it from the whisky, Ian didn’t know. But it killed him to see it anyway. “How could you think that?”

The tumbler thumped to the table where Mickey dropped it. “Oh I don’t fuckin’ know, Ian. You’ve been acting like this is the last place you wanna be in the world right now - here, with me. I can’t do anything right. I can’t say anything right. You won’t even talk to me or say stupid jokes. You pick up extra shifts at work to avoid me. You hide out at my fucking _sister’s!_ The fuck - how -” Mickey’s voice made a horrible cracking sound that made Ian want to gather his boyfriend all up. “How did we get here? When the fuck did you decide to check out?”

Ian was dumbstruck. All his anxiety over being a burden to Mickey - over not bringing in enough money and feeling completely inadequate - and Ian had never thought of how Mickey would see it. He’d tried so hard to keep it from him, not wanting to add to Mickey’s worries. But he’d never have thought that Mickey had been fearing they were over for weeks. Ian hadn’t thought he was pulling back, but yeah, he did spend more time at Mandy’s. Because looking at Mickey just made him feel guilty. He pulled more shifts because the money was too good to pass up and he liked feeling useful. He’d never noticed he’d been taking his frustrations out on the love of his life.

Well. Fuck that noise.

Ian shoved the laptop and the glass out of the way and perched on the table, his long legs framing Mickey’s as he crowded his boyfriend as much as he dared. He pressed his hands carefully into the cushion at either side of Mickeys knees. “I fuckin’ love you, Mickey Milkovich.”

Mickey bit his lip, shook his head. “Fuck off. Go and sell it to some other asshole back in Chicago.”

“Fuck Chicago.”

“The tickets were right there, Ian - !”

Ian leaned in closer. “I was just scoping. I wanted to see how much it would cost to visit my family.”

Mickey pushed him back. “Nice try. One way tickets don’t usually mean you plan on coming back.”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrists and held firm as the boy tried to tug them away. “They do when they’re cheaper,” he mumbled.

Mickey stopped tugging and Ian blushed fiercely. “We - we don’t have enough money, Mick. Soon we won’t even have enough to cover basic bills. I was just trying to figure out how much more I’d have to earn to help cover everyday living and putting a little aside for trips and stuff.”

“Why are you worrying about that shit? Is it your meds - Ian we’ll always be able to afford your meds. We’ll get a smaller place, or we can cut back on groceries. I don’t need that much jello. I can pick up more hours -”

“No!” Ian cut him off. “This is exactly what I mean. Mickey, you’re running yourself into the ground already. You take anymore hours and you’ll keel over. And it’s not even really about you. I wanna pull my weight, alright? I don’t wanna be a burden.”

Ian said that last part to his shoes and Mickey’s heart tripped a little. So what. Son of a bitch made him soft, sometimes. His voice was thicker than Mickey would ever admit to, but eventually he choked out, “You’re such a stupid bastard, Ian.”

Ian laughed, eyes wet and crawled on top of Mickey. Ian straddled him and shoved his face into Mickey’s neck, inhaling deep. “I love you,” he mumbled and kissed his throat. “I love you.” _Kiss._ “I love you.” _Kiss._ “M’sorry.”

Mickey’s hands ran up and down Ian’s back soothingly. He nodded into Ian’s shoulder and held him tighter. “I know. Just. I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this shit, but talk to me next time, alright. I was goin’ crazy over here.”

Ian pulled pack, arms wrapped around Micky’s neck, and nodded. Mickey could see his eyes were still worried though.

“I’m serious. Don’t worry about the money. We’ll figure it out. You can do anythin’ you want, man. You just gotta decide. Because I know from experience once you set your mind to something, that fucker doesn’t stand a chance.”

Ian smiled, showing a sliver of teeth. “Like you?”

“Mmm. Somethin’ like that.”

Ian laughed softly and slumped over his boyfriend. There was no TV on. No sound but their breathing. But it was perfect. It was calm.


End file.
